![]() ![]() Please you put this poem in your bag also. They all stand riven, feeling you leave in your glasses through the stairwells and courtyards of this criminal and terminal city with your over-the-shoulder bag. Only the sphinxes stand guard vainly over the rivers, which are leaving, and the lions and the griffins.Īnd the cyclopic surveillance apparatus of the sun on a midnight in June, and the fabulous animals cast brazenly in the public gardens of Leto…they all stand bereft, for it is said that esse est percipi, to be seen is to be. ![]() ![]() It is said that the nymphs are departed, the tritons are departed, and those who had lived in these apartments and also those who had lived in those apartments. Because you are leaving and the river is leaving, sweet Never run softly. It stands to reason that you too will become a shade for those who are to come. Ours is a city that used to exist fully, for it was populated by shades and reflections like Facebook. What an artificial word is beautiful, how moving it is in its awkwardness, in its etymological reflection of violence and occupation. Your face is in back of your glasses and the beautiful façades are in front of them. They are repeating like stanzas in a serial poem where one of the lines is constant. It is moving among façades that are neither moving nor moved. It is making its unwavering way to no longer being a river. An over-the-shoulder bag is over your shoulder.Īnd the river is leaving. ![]()
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